Stroker: A Bad Boy Sports Romance (16 page)

I shove it back. “Well, it sure as fuck isn’t mine either,” I look to Tia, “and it’s definitely not hers. Right?”

“Right,” she says, weak.

Billy holds the package with one hand. He doesn’t question me. He knows I’m telling the truth. “If it’s not mine, and it’s not yours, who the fuck does it belong to?”

I look out the window again, but the cops are long gone. It’s been a long time since I dealt with the law. I thought I put that all behind me. I look back to Billy. “Where did you find it?”

He points to the sofa. “I was fishing for a Pringle down the side. I reached under the cushion and, bam, there it was. Not more than a minute later I heard the cops pulling up. We’re fucking lucky. The cops went straight for the sofa. They knew exactly where to look.”

I pace around the apartment. “So someone tipped them off?”

Billy nods. “Makes sense, but why? Someone trying to set you up, bro? Put you away?”

It’s perhaps the most sense-filled conclusion he’s ever come to.

“Blake.” Tia reaches for me, and it’s so good having her back. We don’t speak, we don’t have to talk about it. We’re simply together again, right then. Everything else is forgotten because we know, deep down, we should be together. I reach down and cup her face, kissing her and pulling her tight.

“I’m sorry,” I tell her, and I mean every word.

“I know,” she says. “I know.”

“Flush that shit,” I tell Billy, “quick as you can.”

Tia’s shaking like a leaf under my arm. She’s strong, but this has really rattled her.

“Stay with your dad tonight, okay?”

“Blake?”

“It’s fine. I’ll get to the bottom of this, I promise, but I don’t want you caught in the middle.”

“Someone wants to hurt you, Blake,” she says, hand gripping my arm tight, “real bad.”

“I know.” And it’s true. I know it’s fucking Ethan. Who else could it be? He wants to put me away, fine, but he got my brother and Tia mixed up in this little war. If he thinks he’s going to make me disappear, take my spot at the Games, he’s got another thing coming. They might call me Goliath, but I don’t go down that easy.

Tia places her hand on my chest. “What are you going to do?”

I look out to Carver in the distance. “Make a house call to my number-one fan.”

*

I don’t have to look far. I find him making his way out of the dorms. I hit him hard and fast from the back, don’t give a fuck who’s around to see this. Let them. I’m not a student anymore.

Ethan twists below me. “What the fuck?”

As soon as I see his face, I go to work—jab, right, left, jab—pummeling my fists into his face.

He manages to get a leg under me and flips me off, dragging me across the dirt and hitting me hard in the side of the head. My ear goes numb, ringing and hot. I thrust my elbow forwards and feel it connect with his chest.

I spin up and dive on him again, holding him by the hair and lifting my fist back. It hovers there, his face bloody and beaten before me. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t end you right now?”

He laughs, blood and spittle dribbling from his lips, eyes red. “Blake Johnson, king of the pool, with your fucking bravado and alpha bullshit. Go ahead.”

I look around. People are keeping their distance, refusing to intervene.

“Everyone’s watching,” he continues. “Fucking do it, pussy.”

“Why?” I ask simply, pulling his hair tighter. “Why did you do it?”

“Because you don’t deserve it, that’s why.”

I shake his head. “Deserve what?”

“The Games, the glory,
her
. None of it. You came from shit and you’ll always be shit.”

I let his hair go and get off him. “And I guess you’re entitled to it all because what, you’re a Knight?”

He laughs, coughing. “Fuck you. This isn’t over. We’re brothers, remember? One and the same.”

I turn. “We are
not
brothers. A fucking disgrace is what you are, to the sport, to Coach, to yourself.”

I start walking away, ignoring the voice telling me to go back and crush his skull in, but no. He’s not worth it. Not now, not tomorrow, not ever.

“I’m not done with you,” he calls, laughing. “I’m not done at all.”

TIA

It’s been days since the cops showed up. Things seem to be normal on the surface, but I know they’re not. Blake seems preoccupied, distant. The whole thing with Ethan is really getting to him, not to mention the fact he has to train by himself now, away from campus, even though Dad is trying to do everything he can to be there for him. It’s tense in the lead-up to this next meet, the qualifier for the Games. Even sex has become darker, Blake taking on more of a dominant role, not that I’m complaining. I like it when he takes charge.

It’s late at the pool complex. Dad let me sneak in a late session by myself. I texted Blake earlier, told him I needed a little ‘one on one coaching’ winking emoji, kissing emoji, tongue-out emoji. Hopefully he got the hint and makes his way down here tonight. I could do with a good ‘session’. I think we both could.

We spoke about this role-play earlier. He thought it might be a little weird given Dad’s the coach and all, but a quick cock rub soon put him in the mood. “It’ll be fun,” I told him, “please.” But it’s midnight and he’s yet to show.
Maybe he couldn’t get in?

I push harder through the water in frustration. My lungs are on fire. Every ounce of energy my body produces is seized away by the effort to continue. My lips rise above the surface and I take in air, barely enough, to power on.

My body is one thing, but it’s my mind that’s in control. I put up internal walls and focus simply on my stroke just like Blake showed me, the ingress and egress of my limbs through water, my eyes following the line, and that’s all there is: the line and I.

The end of the pool nears, all ethereal aqua and aglow. Through my goggles I see him waiting, hand against his hips, the other clocking my time.
So you came. Question is, will you play along?

I burst from the water and claw at the edge of the pool, my stomach billowing in and out against the wall, my bound cleavage heaving against it. I pull my goggles free, let them drift in the water and look to him, this guy I’ve fallen for, this perfect athlete. “Well, Coach?” I ask, smiling. “How’d I do?”

“You’ve got to push harder through that last fifty if you ever want to make Nationals. You hear me?” And just like that Blake the Coach is back.

“What do you suggest, Coach?”

He taps his head. “What’s going on up here? That’s what I want to know. What’s ticking over in that cute little brain of yours, huh? That’s where the battle is won—in the head. If you’re not strong up there you may as well hang up your dreams now and let the door kick your ass on the way out back to Orlando. Am I making myself clear?”

“Yes,” I mumble out. “Crystal.”

“Yes, what?”

This is new, but I know where he’s going with it. “Yes, sir.”

“Another ten. Go.”

I don’t argue, even though my body is beyond breaking point, every tendon and muscle pulled like purse strings. But as I scissor through the water, my mind wanders to him, to the wild sex that’s sure to come.

Already I’m painfully horny at this game. I tingle thinking of us together, how we both drifted in this very pool naked just weeks ago. I see us in the water, his body against mine, naked, his hands between my legs.

I drive it out of my head and concentrate on the line, pushing forward harder, but the images remain. I picture his legs, muscular, thrusting forward into me, pressing me up against the blocks, his lips on mine, wet hair, chest, bodies as one.

Before I know it I’ve almost collided with the wall.

He’s there with stopwatch in his hand. “A personal best. That’ll do.”

It’s late and half the lights are off above, casting strange, phantasmal shadows across the water and tiles. He looks down at me like a Thespian god, black shorts and white polo, whistle hanging loosely between the hardened plateaus of his chest—
my
chest.

I look up enough to see a sliver in his shorts, a slice of daybreak reflected off the floor.

He’s not wearing any underwear. I can just make out the shadowed outline of his balls, the bulb of his penis, far larger than I had imagined it to be when we first met. It’s pressing out the front of his shorts, erect.
The things I’m going to do to you.

My eyes move to his and I see he’s smiling down at me, close to breaking character, but he manages to hold it together. There’s an awkward stretch of silence as we gaze at each other, him standing unmoved, my mouth hanging limp, air passing frantically in and out, my eyes wide against the semi-light falling from above.

Blake moves his hand out. I take it. He pulls me from the pool onto the ground above. “Hit the showers.”

I stumble, almost collapse into him. His hands are around my waist, steadying me. He takes his time prying them away, peeling them back carefully, and holding my gaze all the while.

“Easy there.”

“Sorry,” I mutter, feeling incredibly exposed in my black one-piece, this role-playing causing tension to run into my core, my pussy growing wet and willing underneath my suit.

I collect my towel from the blocks and pad my way to the showers as the monster clock ticks above. There’s a mirror to the right of the change-room door. I see him in the shadows, watching me from the pool as shards of blue crisscross the walls and ceiling.

Even from this distance I can tell his eyes have fallen to the lower half of my body, stopping on my buttocks as they slide together, my suit having ridden up between them. That’s right.
Have a nice, long look, lover.

In a way I like it, this attention. When I’m with Blake, my self-esteem issues evaporate, and why the hell not? I’ve worked hard for this body. Someone once said my breasts were too large for a competitive swimmer, but strapped tight they don’t impede my progress. I’d forget they were there if my nipples weren’t always so strained against the Lycra-like fabric of my suit.

I push through the locker room door and into the darkness beyond. I find the light switch, the fluorescents stuttering into life. I squint at the brightness that floods the room. A long bench runs down the center and I throw my towel on it, stretching to alleviate some of the tightness in my muscles. I reach my arms to the ceiling, drawing my breasts tightly together. I stretch my leg against the bench, feel my gluts pull.

After I’ve finished, I stand there. I try to focus on my breath, drawing it back to normal. I hold my hand over my chest, feel my heart pump against it like an angry hammer. It takes a minute, but gradually it begins to slow. I’m not even aware of the door opening.

When his hands slide up the incline of my hips from behind, I think I’m imagining things.

“Blake?” I whisper back.

It’s only when he spins me around to face him, pulling me into his body, I understand what is going on. It’s only then I know how badly I want it, want
him
.

I look into his eyes, staid as they are, deep and black and simmering emotion. I can feel his package against the cleft of my pussy, firm and hard.

We don’t say anything. We don’t need to. I’m confident my eyes alone are communicating my want, the rise in my breathing giving me away.

The next thing I know his body is pressed against mine, the wetness of my swimsuit soaking through his polo as his lips close over my own. His hands slide down my hips to the underside of my ass as he pushes his groin against mine, tongues meeting above, my blood pressure rising and my heart, which had abated its gallop just moments prior, now running hard once more.

I feel a tickle between my legs, deep there where I dare not touch, my sex swelling up against him, my inner wetness mingling with the chemical-laden water that coats my body and swimsuit.

He presses his mouth hard against my own and our lips work together. We breathe each other in, desperate in our lust, desperate to consummate it.

I begin to shake, unable to place whether it’s from the strange feelings of taboo running through me at this game, the vibration that has started up between my legs or simply the feeling of his lips and mouth upon me, hot and heavy.

We separate and he slings off his polo to reveal that tight, toned physique, perfectly hairless and clean, nipples flat saucers on the marble of his chest. His eyes don’t leave mine when he draws his shorts down, his cock springing free. It looks too big, a baby’s arm in the light, but I’m used to it now. It’s more of a friend than a stranger.

He takes the straps of my swimsuit and peels them down my shoulders, my breasts coming free, my nipples fiery pink in the harsh lighting. He takes one in his mouth. My breast pulls away from my body as he suckles, the exquisite pleasure of my nipple engulfed by his mouth overwhelming. He cups the other, weighing them out. I breathe heavily into his ear, lick its outline and feel his stiff member below twitch and buck against my leg.

I comb my fingers through his hair as I take in his warm, manly air. I moan as his hands roll my swimsuit down my body, the sensation of my breasts against his smooth chest almost too much to bear in this space, a space that feels smaller and smaller by the second.

My swimsuit rolled around my torso, his hands drop down my back, his fingers rolling along my skin and then below the taut elastic at the rear, each of his ample hands taking an ass cheek, testing their tightness.

“So fucking firm,” he’s telling me. I can hear the want in his voice, breaking at my ear. He needs this. We both do.

“Touch me,” I whimper.

His right hand moves into the valley between my ass cheeks, stretches out the material there. I feel it pull and mold to the shape of his hand as it comes up and under against my slit, my suit soggy below, my wetness soaking his hand as it leisurely explores the folds of my pussy.

I go to drop, to feel his finger slip inside me, but he pulls away to peel my swimsuit down completely, his breath hot on my navel as he kneels to twist the garment free, now bunched and wet, discarded to the floor.

We stand facing each other. I see his cock is visibly leaking, a clear line of his desire glazing the sloped helmet of his cock.

“Lie down,” he orders.

I lie on the bench on my back.

“Spread your legs.”

I move my feet apart and feel cool air enter the space created, the sharp odor of chlorine still heavy in the air, wet sheets of my hair cascade over the side of the bench, my back and spine hard against the wooden slats.

I try to relax, staring at a crack on the ceiling, my sex burning between my legs in anticipation of his touch.

When he touches me, I gasp.

Blake’s finger finds my swollen lips trapped under a soft down of wet, sticky hair. I moan as his index finger glides slowly into my willing hole. I look up and find that he’s staring at me, in awe of my body. I look between my legs, see his finger and the glint of opaque liquid that surrounds it, the distended lips of my vagina like an exotic flower blooming at his touch.

He adds a second finger, curling it up against the ribbed roof of my pussy. My back bends off the table. I press my breasts together for his benefit, take a nipple into my mouth, unable to believe I am doing these things. But all the while the power of his hand is too much, overwhelming me, turning me smitten with lust until all I can think about is Blake, his cock thick between his legs, leaking in anticipation of filling me, his star pupil.

I can taste the chlorine and salt on my skin, smell its thick, alkaline scent everywhere. It cools on my body and dries in strong contrast to the slick mess being created at the juncture of my thighs.

He presses the flat of his tongue against my clit as his fingers work. I cry out, long and hard, at the intense feelings building inside me.

The tip of his tongue slides against the swollen inner lips of my pussy, swirl around the rosebud of my clit, lapping at its fleshy hood above, rimmed and engorged with blood. I begin to feel light-headed as my orgasm builds deep inside my sex. It strains against his fingers, closing around his knuckles as I crest over into pure ecstasy. I close my eyes, push my chest forward and let it come, clear liquid coating his whole hand, my body bucking against his mouth as he sucks at my clit, waves and waves of pure joy washing through me as I twist and spasm against him.

When it becomes too much, I force his mouth away from my pussy, pressing at his forehead, my essence still wet on his lips. He licks them clean as he continues to curl his fingers inside me, each time he presses up against my g-spot forcing me to kick out as if shocked once more. Finally, when I am near unconscious, he withdraws completely, leaving my body open and empty.

Echoes of my orgasm coursing through me, I lay on the bench, legs hanging over the sides. The chlorine traps my perspiration, leaving me flushed cool and hot all at once.

I’m vaguely aware of him standing over me. He remains in character. “You’ve been slacking off for weeks now, haven’t you?”

I like this game, the naughty student and her coach.

“I have,” I confess. “I should train harder.”

“You need to be punished.”

This is new.

“Punish me,” I huff, almost in tears from the sheer power of this amount of pleasure, my body and senses detached, so alien to me. Even the words that come from my own mouth seem foreign. “I’ve been
real
bad.”